From the Heart of the Dragon Tree
by Black Iris Maiden
Summary: Something had come to Britain and changed the course of the war. Aberforth Dumbledore quickly finds himself entangled in more than just a war. Family Fic. Non-slash.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

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><p>Prologue<p>

It was meant to be a simple pick up. A quick trip to Dobson's for some parts. However that arse _Voldemort_ had other plans. With a stagger, Aberforth pushed himself upright along a brick wall and clutched his side. His grey robes sported several tears and was dusted with dirt in several spots. Tense, he drew his wand out with his free hand as he silently cursed. Corpses littered the alleyway; the street marred by char and blood. Debris covered the floor of the street; silence hung heavy in the air with unnatural weight. Barely visible within the dust laden air, cracked ivory masks glinted in the dim light amongst their victims. A revolting smell floated about the alley, worsened by the July air.

"Bloody idiots," Aberforth muttered.

His eyes swept over the fallen before he noticed a solitary wand that was off to the side. A chill swept through him when his eyes landed on it. There was something about that wand that was off. It felt _wrong_.

'All the more reason to get the hell out of here,' Aberforth thought. Well back to business. Carefully he pushed himself off the wall and stumbled towards the entrance of Dobson's store. He should have seen a strong, iron framed, driftwood door beside a window proudly displaying Dobson's Bits and Bobs. Instead there was a plain brick wall sporting years of grime. He reached forward and fumbled for the door he knew to be there; the war had made everyone paranoid which made simple trips difficult. When Aberforth found the door knob he gave it a twist and stepped through the illusion.

The familiar sight of an old fashioned hardware store came through. A comforting smell of machine oil and steel permeated the brightly lit store. Goods overflowed on the shelves and tables. Door knobs, drawer handles, knockers, hooks, pegs, and various metal fittings could be seen. Rows of nails and screws and fasteners lined the back wall, each tiny drawer meticulously labeled and sorted. Bottles and cans and jars of varnishes, glues, or paint were along the opposite wall. A sturdy, newly built staircase was standing behind the register, leading up to the Dobson's private apartment.

The old barkeep craned his neck as he searched for Dobson.

"Stupefy!"

Instinctively he dropped to the floor as the scarlet light flew over-head.

"Oi!"

He heard his assailant halt the second spell as merchandise fell onto the floor.

"A-Ab-Aberforth?" spoke a feminine voice.

"Who else do you think it is," Aberforth growled as he pushed himself off the ground.

An elderly woman with disheveled silvery hair appeared from behind the counter. She wore a simple locket made of silver and was dressed in tawny robes. Speculatively she eyed him behind a strange pair of glasses that sort of resembled the Spectra glasses from the Quibbler. The large neon purple frame was goggle like and acid green runes covered the entirety of the monstrosity. Lastly, there were a pair of monocles that was fastened atop each lens. She rushed over to Aberforth's side.

"Oh Merlin I'm so sorry. There was a…. I thought you were-"

Dismissively the barkeep waved it off. "I'm fine Dianne. Where's your husband?"

She gaped at him briefly before recomposing herself and pocketing the glasses. "He's up-upstairs. Let me get him."

As she rushed over to the stairs Aberforth began mending his wounds with various healing spells.

"Lawrence!" He cringed when the woman hollered.

"Give a moment, bloody woman..." replied an equally loud voice.

Muffled voices were heard on the second floor before footsteps made their way towards the stairway. There was a pause as the muted conversation resumed. Dianne meanwhile had assisted Aberforth to his feet and sat him down on a large bucket; once it had contained roofing sealant. Dianne then proceeded to ignore his protests and healed his wounds. After tending to the last of his injuries the woman glanced over to the stairway only to give an exasperated sigh. She whispered several apologies prior to going off to fetch some tea. Briefly he wondered what was taking so long as the pair came into hearing range.

Lawrence's deep baritone was the first to be recognized, "Excellent. So I can expect it to arrive at same time and place next week?"

"Same time and place," replied a male voice tinged with a Chinese accent.

"Great. Also care to pass this on to your friend?"

"Will do."

The familiar roar of the floo could be heard as someone came down the stairs. The man came to a quick halt at the foot of the stairs as he dusted his green apron. Lawrence Dobson was a pale, skeletal, old man of seventy with frosty grey eyes. A black quill was tucked behind his ear and his apron sported a wide array of pockets of varying sizes. Various objects peeked out of the pockets one of which was a tarnished pocket-watch.

Lawrence looked at Aberforth with an embarrassed flush, "I apologize for the delay."

"It's fine," Aberforth waved. "Though I am interested in those glasses your wife has."

Lawrence walked over towards the back of the store and motioned Aberforth to follow. "They're pretty much the cheaper version of that _magical eye_ of Moody's. Not as effective though. We got a couple extra if you're interested."

Following Mr. Dobson, Aberforth fingered his beard. "...I'll think about it."

The shop keep chuckled softly at the man's response. "So how's business at the Hog's Head?"

"The usual."

"No surprise there. Though there is something you ought to know; information that the order will need." Lawrence gave a curt nod as he pulled out some keys.

Aberforth arched a brow at the man and waited for him to finish. It wasn't unusual for Lawrence to occasionally feed him information every now and then.

"I was told to avoid Knockturn Alley for the next few days". The man shifted uncomfortably and led him through the door into a room filled with crates and barrels. "Something about a Mr. Jacques."

The barkeep's eyes widened in recognition and he resisted the urge to curse. Jacques was Voldemort's latest right hand man. A mere month ago, Jacques had effectively changed the entire nature of the war when he magically, no pun intended, tripled the Dark Lord's ranks. As a result the ministry was crippled and the resistance was trapped in the shadows. The fact that the man was lingering in Knockturn Alley did not bode well for anyone.

Aberforth released a long sigh and scrubbed at his face. He was getting too old for this. "I'll let the Order know. Anything else?"

Lawrence flicked his wand and the lid of a crate slid off. He reached into it and began to sift through it.

"Well…there have been some strange occurrences of late. So far it's been only a handful of disappearances and several puzzling reports."

"How _unlike_ Voldemort," Aberforth spoke softly.

Lawrence paused to flinch and gave the elder man a fearful glance. The shop keeper then released a resigned sigh.

The barkeep arched a brow, "I see that you agree."

Lawrence nodded numbly and resumed his search. It was then his wife had returned and came shuffling in with a pot of hot tea. Before Aberforth could even muster a syllable she promptly shoved the tray into his hands with a beaming smile.

"Please Mr. Dumbledore take a seat. Have some tea. Relax. It will be some time before my husband finds your order."

Aberforth felt himself go pale as he heard her speak those words. There was no escape from this was there?


End file.
